I'm not good at a lot of things. My hands fumble when I tie my shoes, I leave the house with my straightener plugged in. Last week I forgot to cap the blender and had to scrape mango slime from the ceiling fan. Really the worst thing was that I could never make my thoughts known. And when shit hit the fan 4 and a half months ago, I fell silently. 3 days ago I was resuscitated on the grimy, chlorine soaked tiles of the town rec center. I thought I'd get a clean getaway with the whole killing myself thing. Gracefully, like in the movies. As you can tell, it didn't go that way. He saw me fully clothed and stone still at the deep end. Forcefully breathed the life back into my shrunken lungs. Sure he gave me back my life, but I didn't want it in the first place. And now I have to go back to it all.Tous Droits Réservés
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